Status by Date

05/11 Jenny lives the mundane life. News at 11.
05/22 Jenny runs like a headless chicken. More to follow.
05/23 Jenny lives night in a spritely manner.
05/27 Jenny experiences difficulties regarding prom. More after these messages.
05/30 Jenny goes dress shopping, makes painful realization. 06/02 Jenny finds girl crying in bathroom, comes to her aid. o6/03 Jenny sleepwalks through life, but doesn't seek help from her healthcare professional.
06/04 Jenny joins the red cup rebellion.
o6/o5 Jenny sits at Tucker's Round Table.
06/11 Jenny attends prom. chaos ensues.
06/12 [early hours] Luna gets stomach pumped. aftermath unconfirmed, but sources indicate that it will be "epic."

Jenny in Suburbia

Ahoy. I'm Jenny. I'm edgy, but not in the way you think. I'm the girl on the edge...the one you see in your peripherals, but never focus both eyes on. Somehow, the eye and the conversation just slide right over me. You know me. With the brown hair and dark eyes...and, kinda small and quiet? Yeah, her.

Well, I'm boring. But what's going on around me? Not so much.

Follow me for the scary skinny of high school and coming in from the fringes. Spread the word and, if you're so inclined, leave some words.

Sunday, June 20, 2010


One last time I went to see luna. Without tucker this time

I rang her doorbell and her dad eyed me up and down before turning and screaming her name.
She wasn’t angry anymore, she just had this resigned air

We sat on the front steps looking at the late afternoon sunshine until at last she said
“I’m leaving.”

I stared at her through my hair, trying to decipher that.

“my parents…insisted on a drug test. They started asking these questions about my friends, my schoolwork, boys. I’ve done the one thing they’ve found inexcusable.”

“I know,” I said softly. “did they want to…what. Get you help?”

“My god” she said. “I don’t need help.”

I let that hang. “Luna. Your friendships are breaking down. You lash out. You party. It affects your schoolwork. You stopped caring about your future. And I genuinely think you might be a chameleon.”

“A chameleon?”

“who are you, Luna? You change your personality for fun. I can’t find you in all the bells and whistles.”

“I hate you, jenny.” She said, but without heat. I shrugged.

There was nothing left to say. We had a shared past, but it was suddenly clear she wasn’t interested in more. With badly disguised longing she asked about Tucker.

She’s enrolled in some boarding school for troubled teen girls. Reform school, except you’re not supposed to call it that anymore. It’s in upstate New York, with the cows and the horses and Republicans. She’ll probably hate it there. She’ll probably start an uprising. Or she’ll become a sheep.

Is this what a fall looks like? I thought I’d feel better about it. Where’s my closure?

[picture from here.]
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Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Blowin' Up Ma Phone [Confessions, Pt III]


At 3:18 PM Saturday afternoon I got woken up again by my cell phone buzzing. I was too sleepy to pick it up but it was Tucker and he wouldn’t stop calling and calling and when he stopped the house phone rang then I got a text from Ashley saying “Tuckers looking for u, didn’t tell him anything just that ur home” and I listened to the message and it said:

“Jenny. Jenny. Where the hell are you? Are you ok? You were really messed up last night and when I woke up just now you were gone and I freaked and I can’t find you anywhere. Call me, please.”

And the second said:
“ok. Ashley says you’re ok. But please, call me. I want to talk to you. I know you might’ve freaked because of us and last night—hell, just call me, ok?”

And the third said:
“JENNY. Jenny. Jennifer. I—ohmygod. GOD!” he screamed and I flinched. “I just heard from Rose that Luna got rushed to the ER last night to get her stomach pumped and she’s still in the hospital because they can’t find her parents to sign her out so I opened up google on my phone to do a search for the hospital and PLANNED PARENTHOOD DIRECTIONS are on the screen! And money’s missing from my wallet! And you’re the only one who knows the code to unlock my phone. What the FUCK, Jenny I--“

And here the message cut off. The fourth said:
“Sorry. The machine cut me off and now I’m a little calmed, but Jenny, what the HELL do you think is going on? That I took advantage of you? Jenny you were so messed up you couldn’t even remember your name. Jenny. I would NEVER. NOTHING HAPPENED. I kissed you. I held you while you threw up. I fell asleep watching to make sure you didn’t throw up in your sleep and choke and die. NOTHING HAPPENED. CALL ME. please.”

I put my head down and laughed until I cried.

[Side note: if this post had a soundtrack, it'd be "Telephone" by Lady Gaga Feat. Beyonce]

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Tuesday, June 15, 2010

In the Baths [Confessions, Pt II]


I woke wedged between a coffee table and Tucker’s unyielding form. We appeared to be in a sun-filled living room and the couches and arm chairs and rugs were piled with sleeping bodies. How undignified.

I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror and washed my face, trying to get all the makeup smeared under my eyes off. I sat on the toilet and wondered to myself, what happened last night? I looked down for a moment and—

Little flashes. Tucker spinning me around and laughing. Laughing loud, a deep-bellied laugh. Someone asking “Where’s Luna?” and feeling a little surge of panic. Stumbling on entangled limbs when I opened the bathroom door. And lastly, laying down in the softest floor I’d ever encountered at the end of the night.

Someone barged in. “Shit—sorry!” I stood quickly.

“No, Ashley. It’s fine. I was just, um, thinking.” She stood there in the doorway for a minute, looking at me like I was fascinating.

“Only you, Jenny, would ponder existentialism with a guy from last night’s party snoring in the tub.” Automatically I glanced over. Oops.

“I, um, missed him. So what’s…Ashley?” She ignored, leaning over and snapping her fingers in the guys face.

He woke with a start. “Well, darlin’, aren’t you just a dream come true.” He leered through his hangover and the suggestive pictures drawn on his face in Sharpie.

“Good morning, Chad. Get out. I have a crying girl who needs the facilities.”

“Aye aye, cap’n!” He gave a half-hearted salute and wobbled out of the bathroom in his boxers, rubbing the back of his neck. Ashley shook her head.

“He's mighty cheery for someone who partied the night away. So are you, actually,” I said.

“Oh, I didn’t drink,” she said. When I blinked, surprised, she shrugged. “James was here and I get…affectionate. Didn’t want to risk a moment of weakness. Not like my girl Gwen.”

“What did Gwen do?”

“You mean who did Gwen do.” She shook her head again, this time disgustedly.

I blinked again. “Oh, then you were, um, serious about the bathroom. I’ll just—yeah.”

Ashley waved her hand. She left then suddenly poked her head back in. “Hey, Jenny. I’m not sure if this is too much to ask, but—er, can you get us a ride?”

“A ride? Like a ride home?”

“No. A ride to Planned Parenthood. She needs Plan B like now. God, my friends are stupid.”

I thought it over really fast. “Yeah, lemme just…grab Tucker and we’ll—"

“Oh. No, it’d be better if we didn’t tell anyone. Especially a boy. Hold up, I’ll be right back.”

I scrambled up and crept through the living room and grabbed my purse and a little plastic bag with some random clothes. And there were my shoes. When I headed back to the bathroom I found Ashley leaning on the floor outside the wall, looking grim.

“She insisted on a shower,” she said. “Something about feeling gross.” She looked down and away. I knew that emotion. Shame.

Without a word I turned back around and snitched $4o from Tuckers wallet just in case and searched for directions on his iPhone. I hesitated, then grabbed his keys.. I went back towards the impromptu baptism, gripping Tucker’s keys tighter, and knew he’d understand. I was driving that nameless girl to the damned clinic.

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Monday, June 14, 2010

Substance-Induced Amnesia [Confessions, Pt I]


Before the limo, everything’s quiet. But the second you get into the limo and everyone scrambles into their afterprom dress…suddenly, it’s about reckless and out of control and who can drink fastest, scream loudest and take pictures that maximize the amount of fun you seem to be having when they’re later posted on Facebook. It’s more than letting loose, it’s about hitting rock bottom then digging deeper, it’s about doing something worthy of TFLN or last night’s party or Tucker Max.

The evening started blurring in the party after some guy did a shot then licked the salt off Luna’s neck and Tucker and I linked arms like a couple getting married and flipped them back and slammed them down then went to dance And always, always the dance floor is too tight and if you misstep you careen into a fist-pumping boy and some of those boys are doing the jump and chant and the one closest scraped his heels ALL THE WAY down the backs of my ankles. And it’s hot, so hot and you’re dying for water which you should drink anyway.

and the club is supposed to stay open til 4 but someone got caught in the ladies’ room with a boy and another girl got caught with Xannies so they kick us out around 2. we all pile back into the limo and drove to Zeke’s because his parents went somewhere, he’s not sure where, and will probably stumble home tomorrow morning and not to worry. And all of Tucker’s friends come, and all of Rose’s and Ashley’s and that kid Petya from English class with a boys’ crew and a smooth way with the co-eds but no Luna and we don’t stop partying but it gets hot

Tucker and me outside for air and I’m suddenly so enthused with giddiness I spin giggling across the lawn even though it’s cold out and the moon is almost gone but the stars are out and Tucker suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me towards him and I stop spinning, confused and he kisses me and—

We’re back inside dancing but it’s the close kind, the kind that gives off vibes and another shot and—

Black. My memory goes black.

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Sunday, June 13, 2010

omission or obligation


I thought I wasn’t going to put this up. I told myself that I had no obligation, that I kept this blog for myself. But I’ve committed to it now. I told myself, to avoid losing myself in all this mess, I should make my private thoughts public, so that my thoughts and actions and little hypocrisies are subject to the public, to the jury of my peers. Or at least available to them. It would obligate me to staying true to myself.

And to omit this would be a lie by omission. So, the ugly parts of prom will follow:

part I

part II

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the world as my oyster.


Tonight at dusk, Tucker and I crept over to Luna’s house and called her cell phone. We circled around the backyard and through the grass, which was cold with dew although the night air was only cool.

She popped open a window and hopped out, barefoot, hair unkempt and nail polish chipped.
“What the hell?” was Tucker’s charming opener.

“I’m grounded,” Luna said brusquely. While we gaped—Luna’s parents didn’t do grounded, the did negligence—she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “What the hell do you want?”

Tucker blinked, scowled. “We are trying to ascertain whether you are in good health, physically and mentally and maybe even emotionally. We are trying to be there for you.”

“Then maybe,” she retorted, “you should have watched my back at afterprom instead of going off to neck under the moonlight.”

There was an ugly silence during which my cheeks slowly flushed. Luna looked from face to face.

“You’re kidding,” she said flatly. “This is too precious for words. Feckin’ Tucker and little Jenny sittin’ in a tree, making love and peace and happiness. Wow, Jenny, you really committed to the cliché, hunh? Cashin’ in the ole vcard on Prom Night. I may puke with the sickly sweetness of it all.”

Tucker was enraged. “How dare you talk to Jenny like that! She hasn’t done a thing. She’s been nice to you, defended you when I haven’t. How dare you throw slander at her like that after all the times I’ve driven you to clinics and held your hair back and cut you off and drove you home.”

“So??” she screamed. "I’ve done the same for you. And you know what? Whatever. Jenny plays the good little girl, but no one stays that innocent. One day she’ll be just as twisted as you and me. And you—that little good girl vibe, that wholesomeness you wouldn’t stop talking about when we first hung out with her—it doesn’t rub off, dipshit. You’re trying to be good when you’re just as messed up as me! At least I’m self aware! I don’t delude myself!”

There was a little silence. Tucker spoke, calmer now: “Luna, this time you’ve gone too far with your hypocrisy. I know you think you’re untouchable, but you can’t talk your way out of this mess this time with that silvered tongue of yours. You have to appear in court, for crissakes. That’s not something to brush off.”

“Whatever,” Luna replied, looking away, the fight gone out of her.

“I’m through, Luna. I’m done holding your hair back and listening to you spew this crap. I’m out. Jenny, let’s go.” Tucker left, not looking back. Stomping through the grass. I lingered.

“Luna…please. It doesn’t have to be this way. Turn it around. Repent. Tell the judge you’re sorry, turn over a new leaf. Talk to your parents. See someone. Apologize to Tucker.”

She snorted. “You’re that kind of girl, Jenny. If the world were your oyster, you’d send it back to the farm to grow old and make pearls and tiny, adorable little baby oyster. The farm would be green and the oyster would live and die happily, free from pollutants and French chefs and tacky nouveau riche who think oysters and pink champagne are status. But really, it’s Maybachs and sleeping pill addictions that tell you money’s been bottled, chilled, and properly aged. But I bet you didn’t know that.”

She met my eyes dead-on, and I shivered. They had the dead look you see in inner-city cops and barracuda lawyers.

“Now, honey, I have predatory instincts. I would lever that sucker out and suck it down like fossil fuels at a Nascar convention. And squeeze a few fucking pearls out of it, too.”
She crawled back through the window and glided out of sight, and I was left staring into the empty frame.

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warning signs

our trip to some happy beachhouse has been canceled. i can't even begin to process what's happened in the past 48 hours. how perfectly stereotypical, to have a traumatic prom.

but luna...she's beyond reach. she got rushed to the emergency room to have her stomach pumped. at least, that's the word.

we can't find her. presumably, someone has cut her off. stopped her. maybe she's heeded the signs.

[photo from here.]
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